<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Softly (WIP Geraskier Geralt/Jaskier smut) by witcherwilds</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483742">Softly (WIP Geraskier Geralt/Jaskier smut)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/witcherwilds/pseuds/witcherwilds'>witcherwilds</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Camping, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Fishing, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Smut, Work In Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:42:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,480</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/witcherwilds/pseuds/witcherwilds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"The line snapped to attention, the catfish surging through the water with a vengeance, catching Jaskier so utterly unaware that he toppled headfirst into the creek with a high-pitched scream."</p><p>WIP smut of Geralt and Jaskier in which fishing goes wrong and a bard rewards his savior appropriately.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Softly (WIP Geraskier Geralt/Jaskier smut)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I haven't written a fic in years and this is my first time posting to this site, so I'm very nervous. The fic doesn't yet have the smut part but I'm marking it as explicit since it will soon. I will update this fic with more as I write more, but I was encouraged to post what I have so far, so I will! Hope you like it so far, I know it's short yet!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Fuck! Shut up, Jaskier!”  The sneer stretched his lips in an unpleasant fashion, revealing a canine a touch sharper than what could be considered human.  He continued to coil the rope as he dragged the net towards the shore, watching it slog through the water just below the surface.  They'd been so close to catching that damn catfish, and now they'd go hungry that evening thanks to the bard's insistence on squabbling over who would clean the fish and who would cook it.  Geralt raised the net at last and water poured off it into the creek, sludge and bits of plant matter clinging to it.  He sighed and threw the net on the bank, turning back towards camp, the mud sucking at his boots with each step until he made tracks in dry grass and came upon their pathetic fire pit.<br/>
“Geralt!  It's not my fault!  You were the one who kept yelling at me!”  Jaskier toddled up the incline with a bit of fishing line and bait still in his hands, his doublet several shades darker where he'd wiped his hands on it earlier.  Worms wriggled in his fist, covered in wet dirt.  “If you'd just quit treating me like an incompetent court jester maybe we could have a proper meal for once!”<br/>
“And if you'd shut the hell up perhaps we could catch something instead of you scaring it off with your incessant chattering.  Who fucking cares who guts the damn fish?”  Geralt snarled, kicking an out of place rock back into the stone circle that made up the fire pit.  Roach bucked her head a short distance away, displeased by the bickering.  “I'm going to get more firewood.”<br/>
“Don't you walk away from me, you, you- you bastard!”  A worm was flicked at the witcher's head, flying right by his ear.  Geralt slowly turned, gaze rolling over his shoulder to catch the bard's hazel eyes.  Jaskier's mouth became a tight line.  Geralt resumed his pace, walking into the woods without further acknowledgement.</p><p>	Jaskier huffed and went back to the creek, grumbling under his breath about how insufferable Geralt was and how much he wished the witcher would just grow a pair and talk to him like an adult. These routine tantrums where he stormed off into the woods were getting exhausting, and he was tired of putting up with being treated like one of the worms he currently attached to the end of the hook, raising the wriggling morsel above his head and giving it a few good swings before he let go and watched it sail to the middle of the stream where it hit the water with an anti-climactic smack and disappeared.  His doublet he'd shrugged off and folded, using it as a buffer between his precious trousers and the vaguely damp grass.  Besides, the sun felt good on his bare back, and it would do him well to bask in it for a while.  It'd do Geralt well, too.  He's pale as porcelain.  Jaskier thought to himself.<br/>
“Now we'll see who's the better fisherman.  Geralt...  Who does he think he can fool?  Throwing a net at every dark shape in the water he thinks he sees?  What you need is bait!  And patience.  And a bit of song!  'Shut up, bard, quit singing, bard, you'll scare the fish, bard,' well when I've caught the biggest fish in the whole lake we'll see who's the better fisherman.  Telling me to shut up like I'm one of his whores...”  His complaints trailed off when there wasn't a reply from behind nor chiding remark.  A sigh left him feeling emptier than he had moments ago and softly there came the beginnings of a lullaby, poured from his lips like honey wine.  Jaskier, now alone, sang to the water and to any fish he hoped were near, the lyrics gentle and kind, singing love poems of a prince and a stable hand.  Minutes passed.  Nearly half an hour.  A sharp tug at the line jerked Jaskier's head up from between his shoulders, briefly excited that he might've gotten a bite, yet sadly that didn't seem to be the case as the line fluttered uselessly in the current again.  Jaskier practically wilted, resting his chin on the butt of his hand, elbow on his knee.  He fiddled with the line in his other hand, making it dance and watching how it played with the water.  Another tug.  He slowly raised his head, eyes trained on the spot where the twine met the deep, his breath suspended in his throat.<br/>
“Shit!”  Jaskier spooked as the fishing line attempted to jump right out of his hands, grabbing it and giving it a hearty yank to prevent that from happening.  He was met with instant resistance, feeling a thrashing sensation from below the water's surface when he saw the barbels and snout of a fat sleek catfish breach for a second in an effort to escape.<br/>
“Geralt!”  He cried joyously, pulling the beast in, digging his knees into the mud having not had the time to jump to his feet before there came more thrashing and a tugging so violent it almost put Jaskier off balance.  “Geralt, I've caught something!  I've done it!  I've caught a fish!  Geralt, come look!  It's a nice big juicy one, too!  Ohhh, come to papa, you beautiful bastard!  That's right!”<br/>
He dragged the desperately flailing fish towards the bank with a huge grin on his face, watching with hungry eyes as it drew ever nearer, shiny gray scales glinting from the reflection of the sun which shimmered on the creek, broken up into pieces by the leafy limbs which stretched far out over the winding stream.  It was so close.  The bard's mouth watered at the mere thought of how delicious it would be with a little olive oil and thyme, freshly sliced lemon and a garnish of rosemary.  All at once the fish ceased it's struggles and Jaskier nearly tipped backwards the slack was so sudden.<br/>
“What the hell?”  Panic rose in his throat and he gently tugged at the limp string, terrified that the line had snapped or the fish somehow unhooked itself.  “No, no, no...it can't get away...I must have it...It would be so tasty...to fry it in...just a smidgen of ale...”<br/>
The line snapped to attention, the catfish surging through the water with a vengeance, catching Jaskier so utterly unaware that he toppled headfirst into the creek with a high-pitched scream.</p><p>	Considerably more peaceful were the woods Geralt stalked through, picking up sticks and fallen branches that weren't green or too moist with rot.  Stupid bard.  Noisy, inconsiderate, selfish little prick, prideful and so very full of himself.  The witcher's boot snapped bone- a distinct crunching sound accompanied by a hollow crack -and he casually glanced at the skeleton it belonged to, some old carcass of a deer laid to rest here for all of known eternity.  His chest heaved with a weighty breath and he carried on, feeling less angry with each twig added to the bundle under his arm, occasionally stumbling across plants he could use in his concoctions, pausing to squat and pick them, the tiny flowers and leaves stuffed into the leather satchel slung over his shoulder.  On he went.  Geralt's mind didn't tend to wander but with an empty stomach and no bard to drown out his own thinking with wretched rhymes, he began to find that his thoughts trailed off to places most pleasant, of fields of sunflowers, sun-soaked beaches, temperate grottos.  Yet soon his mind swirled with the picture of a blue doublet bouncing through red meadows, a lute grasped in soft hands and a sweet voice charming all those who heard it.  A soft 'fuck' met the air and Geralt grunted, straightening his back and looking in the direction he'd wandered from, deciding it was time to return to camp and settle down for the night.  He busied his mind with imagined preparations, exactly how he would put the wood into the fire pit, walk to his bags and collect the tinder box, go back to the fire and carefully put a bit of tinder inside the pyramid of wood, cast the Sign of Igni...the witcher took preoccupying his mind with anything but Jaskier very seriously.</p><p>	“Good girl,” He slipped her the sugar cube with a tiny smile, patting her neck.  Just as he'd been picturing it in his head the fire crackled in the small stone circle, his satchel of herbs had been emptied and the plants hung to dry, the equipment sorted neatly, and the bedding was rolled out beside the fire.  Geralt had also dragged a log over for a place to sit, and all together things looked cozy and quite inviting.  Roach had her fill grazing and was tied to a tree, the witcher's steel and silver swords were in their sheaths awaiting polishing, and the bard's lute lay tucked away in it's case with the rest of the saddlebags.<br/>
He should've been pleased with himself and the work he'd done, knuckles resting on his hip as his eyes roved back and forth over the modest setup.  Crickets were already gathering in the underbrush for their bothersome concerts, twilight elegantly descending upon the forest.  Geralt stood there feeling a distinct lack of warmth despite the fire licking the air beside him.  Jaskier hadn't returned, no doubt still fishing as stubborn as he was, and this part of the forest could've been summed up as staggeringly uninteresting by any witcher or hunter alike.</p><p>	“Geralt!”  A voice in the woods.  He glanced up, having surely heard the bard call out his name.  His brows knitted together and his pupils narrowed into slits, something not quite right about the way his name came to him, an eerie edge to the way it traveled through the trees.  “Geralt! Fuck! GERALT!”<br/>
The witcher bolted.  His steel-toed boots felt nonexistent as they almost missed the ground completely he ran so hard, vaulting over a log and scraping through a thicket on his descent down the slope that ended at the bank of the stream, the forest breaking suddenly into muddy patches of grass and gravel.  He saw the fishing net and that damned blue doublet, folded neatly and all smashed down from having clearly been sat on.  Geralt cursed, scanning the water for any signs of movement, when an arm shot up out of the water followed by sopping wet auburn hair and an expression of both terror and pain.<br/>
“Jaskier! Fuck!”<br/>
“Geralt! Geralt!”<br/>
“I'm coming, hold on, Jaskier, I've got you, I'm coming,”<br/>
“Geralt, please! Plea-”<br/>
The bard's head vanished just as Geralt had flung his shirt aside, jumping right out of his boots and crashing into the water, face scrunched up as he held his breath and forgot to be the graceful, practiced witcher he had been raised as.  In that moment he wasn't really a witcher, wading out to the middle of the stream with a swiftly beating heart when he felt the bottom drop off and, finding there was no bottom to touch with his feet, went under for a brief second before quickly treading water and swimming the rest of the way to Jaskier.  He understood why children drowned in creeks like these, so deceptively deep.  He grabbed the small man around his middle with one arm, forcing him to break for air and feeling a hand grip and claw his shoulder blade.  Jaskier choked, shaking his head and splattering Geralt as he continued to cling to him with one hand, kicking his legs wildly to try and stay afloat and kneeing his savior in the process.<br/>
“Fuck, stop flailing, we'll both drown!”  Geralt said, clenching his teeth.<br/>
“I caught it!”<br/>
“What?”<br/>
“I caught it! Geralt!”  Jaskier held his other arm up to reveal it had been swallowed up to the elbow by a massive, grimy catfish.<br/>
“What the hell!”  Geralt had little time to marvel at this feat, pulling them through the water until his bare feet touched solid rock and he could get both arms under the bard and carry him the rest of the way to the shore, rising up from the stream step by step until his toes sunk into mud.  Jaskier gave a sharp scream, the fish having not given up just yet, thrashing with such force it ripped him from Geralt's arms.  With a single swift motion the witcher grabbed the fish by it's gills and yanked, using both hands to throw it far up onto the bank.  It flopped on the shore and gasped uselessly.<br/>
“Jaskier,”  Geralt breathed, turning to check on the bard with worried eyes and a heart still beating so fiercely he felt lightheaded.  “Are you hurt?”<br/>
“I'm fine,”  Jaskier waved him off, a red streak on his arm, one Geralt couldn't be sure was the bard's blood or the beast's.  “Look at that!  I told you I knew how to catch fish!  Jaskier, renowned bard and now famed fisherman!  Oh, lordy, it's going to be delicious, just look at this fucker!  I'll write a song about it, and you're not included!”<br/>
“What about your arm?”  Geralt trotted after Jaskier like a lost pup, watching him grab the fish and hoist it into his arms, carrying it right up the incline to their little camp.  “Jaskier, you're hurt, let me look at it.”<br/>
This time it was a command, and the growl in his tone caught him off guard causing Jaskier to pause still clutching his prize.  But not for long, Geralt slapped it out of his hands and grabbed him by the shoulder.<br/>
“I'm not hurt,”  Jaskier protested.<br/>
“You are,”<br/>
“I'm not- hey!”<br/>
“Hold still,”<br/>
“Ow! Fucking ow!!”<br/>
“Jaskier,”<br/>
This time when Geralt growled his name Jaskier shut up and quit struggling, letting him prod his arm and wipe away the blood with bare hands until he yelped again and tried to pull away.  The catfish had scraped and bit, drawing blood but nothing some herbal salve and bandages wouldn't fix.   Geralt sighed in relief, the tension draining from his features and posture as he seemed to relax though continued to examine the bard's arm, touching along it quietly.<br/>
“Would you quit it? I'm just fine, thank you, it wasn't like some ugly drowner bit my arm off or anythi- oh-”  Jaskier's complaints ended with a soft squeak, drawn close by the arm, a strong hand cupping just under his shoulder while the other came to rest on the back of his head, bare chests pressed together in an embrace that was cold and wet.  The witcher held his bard close for the span of three breaths, let go of him, and turned his back to collect the fish, cutting through the grass towards the treeline like nothing had happened.  Jaskier was breathless.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>